What you want more than anything
is to grab the zebra in your jaws.
Forget the job. Forget teamwork.
Roll the nature film,
You''ve seen your neighbor
in his flashy car.
You've heard the whispers
of bonuses for others
delivered behind locked doors
like secret Mason handshakes.
You just need five minutes or so
of stalking in the dry Savannah grass.
And then one good sniff of your prey
nibbling weeds by a small lagoon.
What better than a slow creep
up behind that unknowing striped back
as deliberate as sharpening a pencil.
And then the pounce,
the real law of the jungle,
you with your fangs around its rump,
it braying in agonizing terror.
What you want from life
is to trot back to your den in triumph,
zebra intestine flapping in your jaw
like spaghetti.
So they don't pay you as much as the next guy.
You're at the point now
that if they paid you in zebras
that would be enough.